Radioactive
by TheBurningNight
Summary: Dean and Sam thought they stopped the apocalypse, so what's with the dead bodies that walk in the street? And why can't they stop the world from falling apart anymore? And who are these annoying teenagers? And why do they have angelic weapons? Why is this summary full of questions? Oneshot, Rated for minor language. (There are more TMI characters, but I only put the ones I like).


**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS.**

**So, basically, it's a zombie apocalypse. This is actually part of a Christmas story for my sister, and the first part of it on my profile and kind of explains when it starts, but it's for a completely different show, so, therefore, irrelevant. **

**As Supernatural is over (for now) and The Mortal Instruments have officially finished, I just thought I should post something, and this was sitting around. It's the first time I've written anything for Supernatural, so be gentle. **

**I think I'm gonna stop writing now...**

Dean is getting pretty sick of forests. He gets it, he does, but they're pretty freaking repetitive. All trees and green and more trees. But they're safe and hidden and Sam and him have faired pretty well so far. He just wishes that it wasn't _forests_.

He pulls the neck of the beer bottle to his mouth- it's one of the last ones-and takes a long swig. It burns down his throat, the way that he's used to, and settles into his stomach.

"God damn forests," He says, squinting at the sun that pokes through the trees.

Sam looks up from where he's perched himself on the hood of the Impala. Dean kinda wishes that he wouldn't do that, put his scruffy shoes all over his baby, but she hasn't faired too well herself, during all the fighting and the running- so much running. She's dented in the side and has blood splattered on the side windows.

"They're safe, Dean." Sam tells him for the billionth time.

"Thanks for the news, Oprah." He bites back, shoving frozen hands into his pockets. He takes another swig, because that's what keeps him going now.

Sam doesn't say anything back, just looks at him, and Dean hitches his shoulders for defence.

He doesn't like the silence, so he breaks it.

"Where are we?"

They'd travelled East, he's pretty sure, and they'd been at Seattle when the word went to shit, so he guessed that they were somewhere near New York. He could be wrong. This nightmare had been going a year and a bit, they'd been passing through town to town, moving, _always moving_, trying to out run the end of the world. They'd had to pull some pretty dodgy moves just to get away from it all.

"Uh," Sam replies, casting around at the scenery, "Forest?"

This is not what Dean wants to hear.

"Really, Einstein?" He tells his younger brother, "Freaking genius, you are."

He decides to join Sam on the hood, so he does, trying not to scratch the fender with his boots. They can see all the trees from where they are, he thinks it's about the middle of the forest, and it's quiet and peaceful, which is rare. He's used to that, the noise, but he's not used the permanency of it. When he was hunting, he'd kill the thing, burn the bones and drive away from the music. There was always the next town, the next case and his little brother at his side. Now, it was only forest to forest, noise to noise, but he still had his brother, so he guesses that's a good thing.

Because Winchester's stick together. Through everything.

"Have you tried calling Cas?" Sam asks, still eyeing up the trees.

"Only a thousand times," He replies, "Dude's not answering."

Because that's what they did, at first, when the ground was shaking. They'd prayed to the only thing they could pray to, the one thing in heaven that they actually believed in. Then, when the message bank was full, they'd gone to Bobby's, who was hauled up in the Panic Room, shotgun in his hand. He was shaking. And yelling at them. So they'd left, but not before they'd cleared the area first.

That was a year ago. And there is still no sign of Cas, and no word from Bobby.

"He has to be up there," Sam was saying, "I mean, he can't just disappear."

Dean takes one last gulp of beer before he throws the empty bottle to the ground. "I dunno, Sammy. Maybe Heaven's having the same sort of redecorating."

This makes Sam laugh, but the kind that means he'd deflating inside. "I know. I guess I just want to believe that we're not on our own down here, you know?"

"We're not." Dean looks at Sam, that giant, with the huge arms and stupid hair, and the biggest god damn heart that Dean has ever seen. _His _brother whom he carried out of fire, but couldn't rescue from hell. The one that keeps him driving straight and makes sure that the only music Dean can hear is his, when they're driving along an empty road.

Sam looks at Dean, that tiny giant, with the temper and ridiculous smile, and the biggest god damn heart that Sam has ever seen. _His _brother, who keeps asking for more, just so Sam doesn't have to take it. The one who went to hell to make him breathe again. The one who would do it all again. With the car and the leather jacket and glory of saving every single person they can.

"I know." Sam replies.

"Good." Dean evaluates him one last time, then looks away.

The forest is quiet, they're _always _quiet. There's only the occasional zombie, or whatever they are, that wonders in which him or Sam ganks, and then move on. Not so different from how they used to live, except the case isn't cleanly finished. It keeps going. There's no bones they can burn, or hex bag to find. Just them, the impala, and the never ending streams of dead people.

"So, what do you think it is?" Sam asks, not for the first time and probably not for the last.

Dean plays along, for Sam's sake. Keep talking as if you can get a lead and you don't have to think about how you_ don't_. "Dunno. Closest thing I can think of is the rise of the witnesses."

"The seal, yeah, I know. But it doesn't make sense. That's been broken, so it can't happen again."

Dean neglects to tell Sam that he's said that before. "Yeah," He says, "I know."

Sam shakes his head, the way which means that he's trying to clear the confusion in there. "It's weird. We've stopped the apocalypse, you think that'd be the worst thing."

Dean focuses back onto the sun. "Lucifer wasn't exactly a peachy school girl."

Silence again, where Dean can still hear the noise.

"Maybe we should try calling Cas again."

It's their last hope, it's always their last hope. When they've exhausted the leads they had, and they can't turn anymore, they go to him. Because Cas _can help_, they've got someone up there on their side, which is how they can screw fate and take down as many evil son's of bitches that they can.

His brother is trying to cling to something, so Dean humours him.

"Dear Castiel," He prays, folding his arms and settling his back onto to the windscreen, "Please. It's been too long. We don't know what's happening. The world's gone crazy, so now would be a really great time to make an appearance."

He finishes and opens his eyes, scanning the forest. Sam is doing the same, looking for that trench coat and that man, with the eyes that see into you and through you at the same time. Because there would not be a moment in his _entire life_ where he would be more glad to see that freaking angel, the one who falls from heaven for people like _him, _and the one who cares like he does.

Just as Dean is about to give up hope (again) and just as Sam is about to do the same, something shatters the quiet. And that's all they needed, really, one rustle, then to turn and see Cas standing there. Looking beaten and bloodied but _still there. _

"Cas," He says, smiling corkscrewing to the side of his mouth, "Son of a bitch, you waited long enou-"

"Dean," Sam interrupts, gesturing toward a space in the woods. He grabs his gun and slides off the hood of the car.

Dean follows his gaze.

"Freaking hell." He pulls his pistol out of his belt loop, slots ammo into the handle, and follows Sam.

He should have known, he _really_ should have known, because hope didn't exist anymore. It's not Cas that rustled, not Cas. He hoped. He hoped with everything he had. Not Cas.

Sam has his own pistol aimed, eyes hardened. Dean is right next to him, doing the same.

Not Cas. It's a bunch of freaking teenagers.

"Stay where you are." Dean chokes out, "Don't move."

Nothing in the world can make it easier, that shattered hope. Because that's what breaks him in the end. When he's lying in his own blood, bloodied and bruised and everything in between, when he's lost everything, Sam and his Dad and his Mom and Ben and Lisa, his _life, _all the broken pieces of hope catch the light and shatter all around him.

_Not Cas. _

One of the teenagers, he's blonde and dirty, but Dean can still see the original architecture, and he realises that this was once something beautiful. But this world doesn't allow for beautiful things anymore. He steps forward. Long legs stretch, and Dean frowns at the leather that they are encased in.

"We're not going to try anything." He says, golden eyes glinting, "Please. We're desperate."

Dean looks at his brother, and then looks back at the group. Big, in the contemporary context. Four or five of them. Two girls, one in jeans and the other in leather. Jeans girl is small, not much of a threat, but the other one has maybe two inches on him. Not counting the blonde kid, there's two more boys, one dressed in what Dean now associates with people who 'LARP' and the other also in leather. They look like they've got weapons, he can see two or three-well, they look like swords-and they have things carved on them. He can't tell what they are, not from this far away, but they look like angel runes. But they can't be.

Dean cuts his gaze to his brother and shakes his head, very slightly.

"Weapons on the ground." Dean tells them, gesturing to the slim sword things with a jut of his chin.

The dark haired one goes to obey, pulling up a pale arm to the sword thing and carefully sliding it out, but the blonde one throws an arm in front of him, hand splade.

"Don't," He says, eyes tracking Dean. When he speaks next, he addresses Dean and Sam. "We've got swords, daggers. Not long ranged weapons. To hurt you we'd have to lunge, but you've got guns. All you'd have to do is squeeze a trigger and we'd be dead."

"He's right," Sam breathes, "It's unfair."

Dean bunches up his eyes, "Since when were we on that playing field?"

Sam ignores him. Predictably. And places his pistol on the dirt in front of them. Then he reaches into his pocket and flicks a knife next to the gun. He's got more, Dean knows this, but Sam wouldn't be dumb enough to give up the only knife that can kill a demon. With a roll of his eyes, Dean throws his gun next to Sam, followed by his knife.

"That fair enough for you?" He asks them.

The blond smirks at him, and Dean can have respect for that smirk, but the kid annoys him too much for that to make him like him.

"Nothing could ever be enough for me," Blondie says, chucking three knives, the sword-thing, and a couple of other weapons that Dean recognises.

He raises his eyebrows at Sam, who is eyeing the steadily growing pile of weapons. The leather girl has started adding to it, throwing down a small knife from the heel of her shoe, a various assortment of daggers, and other things that has Dean's eyebrows crawling higher and higher.

"You've come prepared." He tells them, only to receive a _look _from leather girl, her dark eyes reminding him unnervingly of demons.

Now, the black haired boy has contributed his veritable armoury of weapons, swiping a bow and arrow from his back and throwing them down. Dean is kinda glad that he kept his spare gun, and that Sam has the knife. Also their stockpile of weapons in the Impala.

"Uh," LARP kid says, "I don't have as much as they do." He throws down a knife.

Dean sniggers and turns to his brother. "Someone's still on their training wheels." He tells him, only to receive a slight shake of a head in return.

"We could do without the running commentary." Leather girl bites, slim arms crossed over her chest, "We get enough attitude from Jace without you adding to it."

"I wouldn't call it 'attitude'," Blondie says, throwing a hand casually through his hair, "They're witty observations."

"There's a point when they stop getting witty," Black haired boy's voice is quiet, and Dean doesn't really know where he fits in, "And that was about eight months ago."

There is something about these kids, something that Dean has recognised after years of dealing with Angels and Demons and nightmares. Because there is something _different _about them, something like him and Sam, and something not like them at all.

He looks at Sam and they both understand.

"I'm Sam," He says, gently grabbing the groups attention, "And this is my brother Dean. We're not going to hurt you or anything, we're just trying to survive. Promise."

The kids look at each other, Blondie and Black haired boy sharing something that Dean _knows, _because that's how he looks at Sam, when everything else is falling apart and splintering.

"I'm Jace," He tells them, looking steadily into them, "That's my brother, Alec, and my sister, Isabelle." Isabelle nods, and as she does so her necklace catches the light, glinting in deep reds. It's strange, how she would wear something so precious in the dark and the dirty. "That's my girlfriend, Clary, and her friend, Simon."

He pays attention enough to match the name to the face, but something is working inside his brain. Something important, because there have been lots of little clues, things he'd noticed, but he couldn't quiet see that big picture that he always fails to realise. But it's _right there. _In the way they dress, and all those weapons, the necklace and the runes.

"Son of a bitch," He breathes out, "Sammy, they're hunters."

Sam looks at him, but it's not quiet that reassuring, because he keeps squinting at him like he's crazy, "They're kids."

"No! I mean, they are, but _look._" He tries to rush over to where Isabelle is, nearly rolling his ankle on an arrow, but he makes it in the end, and pulls the necklace out, ignoring the 'hey' that she spites out at him. "Demon sensing. Dad had one like this, until Bella sold it on the black market."

"Hands off," Isabelle says, and he is shoved backwards by her dainty hands.

Dean ignores this. "And the weapons, they've got _angelic runes _on them. Like Cas showed us."

Sam looks closer, turns his head. "So, they've got angel weapons? Cas never did find out where Balthazar put all that stolen stuff…"

Dean is alive and moving, because something is happening, they've got something important. He is finally, _finally _giving Sam the hope that he wants.

"What are you talking about?" Jace shouts at them, "We didn't _steal _anything."

Dean turns to looks at him. "You're hunters." He says this like it can light everything on fire, "And you've got angelic weapons. Did Cas send you?"

The look that he gets in return tells him everything. "We're hunters." Jace's voice is measured, "If that's what you want to call us. And we have angelic blades, but I don't know who the hell _Cas _is."

The fire is beating down, but Dean is still desperately trying to keep it going. "Castiel, angel of the lord? Wears a trench coat and doesn't blink. At all."

"Um," Jace runs a pink tongue over his lips, "No. We were sent by Raziel, I guess."

"Raziel," As he says this he runs the name through his mind. "Never met the guy."

"He's kind of grumpy." Clary offers, shrugging narrow shoulders. "And he tells you off a lot."

Dean sympathises. "Angels can be assholes."

"Wait," Jace interrupts, "You knew that Izzy's necklace could sense demons. So, that must mean you know about the shadow world."

"Well," Dean says, "If you wanna call it that, yeah. We know all about the…shadow world."

"We're like, Shadow world experts." Sam agrees.

Relief spreads over Jace's face, smoothing over everything. "Great. We can finally talk to someone who has a clue."

That makes Dean laugh, and he hasn't properly done that in a while. Since the sun had eclipsed, probably. He looks at his brother, who is always steady when Dean needs him to be, but can also be moving and jumping and hard to catch.

"The sentiment is returned." He tells Jace, and Sam nods in agreement.

"Okay," Jace replies, and his eyebrows are raised like a challenge, "So what's going on, then?"

Dean pauses. "What?" He finally says, squinting at Jace to try and decipher the meaning.

"You know," Jace waves a hand, "What's with all the zombies? Is it the end of the world, judgement day? Radiation?"

"The apocalypse?" Simon adds, and it is then that Dean's attention is drawn to his shirt. It says, 'THE DARKEST SECRETS I HAVE ARE WHO I SHIP' with cut outs of various different people underneath.

"It's not the apocalypse." Dean says, shoving hands in his pockets.

"Are you sure?" Simon cocks his head, "I mean, the dead are partying it up in the streets. Sounds like the Apocalypse to me."

Dean stares at the kid, "That's not the apocalypse."

"Dean's right," Sam interjects, "The Apocalypse is biblical. It's where Lucifer rises and causes chaos on earth by fighting Michael. After the fight, the survivors are taken to paradise, and the dead are left on earth."

"Well," Retorts Simon, "Aren't the four horsemen part of all that? This could be the begging, you know, like this is Pestilence doing his thing. Next will be War and Death. I can't remember the last one."

"Famine." Says Sam.

"It's not the freaking apocalypse!" Dean bites out, pulling his hands up in frustration. Because he'd already been through all that crap, with the horsemen and the angels and even Lucifer. And that douche Michael. And he wasn't going to deal with that again.

That startles the kid, and he jumps back a little. "Then what is it?" He asks ruefully.

Dean looks at Sam, shrugs and turns back.

"We don't exactly know." Sam tells them apologetically.

Jace kicks at the dirt. "Great," He says, "Then we're still stuck in this pile of _shit _with no clue to whose it is. Perfect."

"Calm down," Alec tells him, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. Jace flinches away, and the pale hand is carefully cradled back.

"Sorry," Sam says, eyes soft, "I know it's hard. Wandering around, day after day, just trying to survive. Not knowing why this happening. Pitying yourself _everyday _because you're stuck in this ramshackle world, trapped by all the broken carnival rides with faded lights that used to shine. And you want to believe that there's something out there, fighting for you and this world. By your back. You can't face the possibility that that's gone to."

Dean tries to focus on the dirt on his shoes, because this is Sam giving up. He's got the white flag and he's holding it high. No more faith, because even after all the times that the belief has saved them, that Cas has some to the rescue, he's disappeared when they needed him. When they'd _begged _for him.

"Faith holds no meaning anymore," Jace replies into the still, where the only sounds at birds and the insects, "Because there's nothing to put it into. Everything people pray to haven't answered. Haven't protected love, haven't protected hope. You're right. This world is just some broken down carnival, where the freaks hide in the dust and the rides keep moving in their destruction."

There's the sound of Simon agreeing and then, "The Apocalypse will do that do you."

Dean doesn't say anything.


End file.
